The Dark Lord's Tea Party
by Abbetrix Lystrange
Summary: The Death Eaters are forced to attend yet another one of Voldemort's weekly tea parties.  Grab your stylish pink hats and satin gloves!  Please remember your table manners or else Tom will have another fit.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, this is sort of like the chapter "The Dark Lord Ascending" . . . but not, because it's a tea party. I tried to keep the tension still there, and I tried to keep everyone in character – but not . . . . Because it's a tea party, and Voldemort likes his tea parties and works very hard to make them enjoyable, and he does not appreciate it when people mess them up.** **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not trying to, so don't suueeee meeee! Please? I don't have any money.**

"Mrs. Tinkle, would you care for a biscuit? I personally think the chocolate digestives are most delectable, but seeing as how I am trying to lose a bit of weight — but I. . . I shouldn't —" Voldemort sighed, patting his stomach sadly with his large white hands.

The room was dimly lit, their only source of light being a large fire, gleaming behind Voldemort's dark silhouette.

". . . Well maybe one —" said Voldemort happily snatching a biscuit from the fancy pink china tray, decorated with frilly pink hearts, of course.

"No thank you, My Lord. I think I would prefer to drink just tea." Said Snape (aka Mrs. Tinkle), holding his tiny flowery painted tea cup stiffly in his hands, but not drinking it. But he immediately regretted saying what he had said; Voldemort could be a bit pushy when it came to his weekly tea parties.

"I _insist_ that you have at least _one_ biscuit, Mrs. Tinkle." said Voldemort quietly, pushing the tray of chocolate digestives to Severus, who sat at his immediate right.

Snape looked up from the large lace covered table, and peered around the room. The Malfoy Manor's opaque drawing room was filled with witches and wizards. At the table, Voldemort was sitting at the head, with the rest seated further down. Some of them were fidgeting, but most of them sat as still as statues. Almost everyone was sported in extravagant feathery hats, shiny silk white gloves or large pearls. All eyes around the table were traveling back and forth between Voldemort and Snape. Seeing Voldemort's eager snakelike face, he reached out a pink satin gloved hand, and timidly took a biscuit from the tray. With an awkward cough, he quickly set it down on his saucer. "You are most gracious, my Lord."

"My Lord," whispered Bellatrix (aka Mrs. Butterscotch) leaning towards Voldemort, her voice full of emotion, "I don't think you need to lose any weight whatsoever."

"Oh _no_, Mrs. Butterscotch, you are far too kind. But I fear that I have maybe - _let myself go_ the past few weeks . . . don't you agree Darla?" Voldemort looked at Lucius Malfoy (aka Darla) expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

Malfoy paled, "N-no My Lord. You look quite — s-slender."

"_Quite slender."_ Voldemort repeated, "You wouldn't be lying now, would you Darla?"

Some of the throng at the back of the table sniggered quietly.

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was drinking her tea with her hand shaking violently, making the contents slop onto her ruffled purple apron. His son, Draco, was clad in a sparkly yellow blouse, with rouge dabbed onto his cheeks, and looking quite miserable. He was looking warily at a giant, slippery snake called Nagini, who was eyeing the scones and hissing whenever someone would reach a hand out towards them.

"My Lord, I would never lie to you." Lucius Malfoy assured him, with fear in his voice.

"Such _lies_, Lucius . . ."

Voldemort then turned in his seat to face everyone and said in a cheerful voice, "Now would anyone like some fruit cake?" And his white spidery fingers gestured towards a polished tin full of hard rock-like fruit cakes.

Voldemort revolved towards Wormtail, "Would you like a cake Mrs. Truffles?"

Wormtail (aka Mrs. Truffles, or Peter Pettigrew) gave a small start at his 'Tea Party Name'.

"N-no my Load," replied Wormtail shakily, "I don't think I shall, for I, like S-Snape, prefer just tea."

"I _insist_ Mrs. Truffles." Said Voldemort nudging the tin closer to Peter Pettigrew. The faces around the table grew even more tense, knowing what would come next. Voldemort did not like being refused, not once, not twice, and he was not as lenient with Wormtail as he was with Snape. But Wormtail didn't understand, he never understood.

"Oh n-no, m-my Lord," stuttered the small man, "I think I'm just —"

Voldemort became absolutely still, his eyes somehow glowed even redder, their slits narrowing. Everyone in the room froze with fear, tea cups in air. Wormtail gulped as Voldemort hissed, "You. _Will_. Take. A fruitcake, Mrs. Truffles."

Wormtail whimpered and stretched out his short arm, and with a shaking hand, he helped himself to the smallest of the cakes.

Voldemort sat up in his chair with a satisfied look on his face. Then, a sudden wail echoed, a terrible cry of misery from right below their feet. Voldemort took a careful sip of his heavily sugared tea, making sure to not drip on himself and his new (and rather expensive) dress.

"Wormtail," Said Voldemort calmly, carefully blotting his lips with his napkin as he spoke, "Have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet? Go give it a biscuit, to shut it up."

Wormtail took a fruit cake and left the room, tripping on his way out.

"Now," Said Voldemort. "Dinner, Nagini."

And the great Snake slithered smoothly from Voldemort's chair, onto the table, towards the golden scones.


End file.
